


Like A House On Fire

by writingramblr



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No Gellert Grindelwald, Canon Compliant, Credence Barebone Gets a Hug, Finger Sucking, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, One Shot, Prompt Fic, Protective Original Percival Graves, Religious Guilt, credence crying during sex, credence is a squib, fast scorch, first orgasms, graves shushing during sex, guided masturbation, instructive smut, no slow burn, original graves all the way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 11:39:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9383345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingramblr/pseuds/writingramblr
Summary: "There was no obvious sound whenever Mister Graves would appear at the end of the alleyway, but Credence would swear the air itself always crackled, and maybe time even stopped, as the man came from nothingness to walk right towards him, and every time, no matter how hard he tried, he always shrunk away."





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nevospitanniy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nevospitanniy/gifts).



> for my day off i asked my lovely twin to prompt me for something that could easily lead to smut b/c im a smut hoe. so here it is. its not exactly like it was supposed to be but there is finger sucking.

There was no obvious sound whenever Mister Graves would appear at the end of the alleyway, but Credence would swear the air itself always crackled, and maybe time even stopped, as the man came from nothingness to walk right towards him, and every time, no matter how hard he tried, he always shrunk away.

He knew it was cowardly, it was like he was waiting for the man to turn on him, to become just like everyone else in his life, to raise a hand not to heal, but to strike, to condemn, rebuking as he saw the mad things in his mind and how dark his heart and soul seemed to get.

Never mind the fact that Mister Graves emanated light and goodness and truth more than he’d ever known God to do. That first encounter with magic, with Miss Tina, had shown him that maybe, just maybe his mother was wrong.

Since then, he’d never seen Miss Tina again, but Mister Graves instead, came to him at the late afternoon, when he’d almost finished handing out all his flyers, and Modesty and Chastity had long since gone back to the church, leaving him alone in the street, shivering and shaking.

That was how Mister Graves usually found him.

He’d see the clock on the bank or the sun in the sky, and he’d know it was almost time.

Today, he’d not felt like himself. He always grew warm around Mister Graves, even when the wind still threatened to bite into his cheeks, to force his eyes to water, and his teeth to chatter. It was magic, it had to be.

The man’s strong hands somehow usually ended up covering his own, healing the cuts and scrapes from the belt. The man’s sure and firm touch did wonders for his trembling. It made the rest of the day and future beatings less frightening.

But still, he was burning inside, from his forehead to his toes, and he couldn’t explain it. Somehow he was cold too, and he wondered if he was dying, if the rebellion of his thoughts and deeds had begun to kill him.

When the air crackled and he could only smell ozone, he squeezed his eyes shut, and turned to press his cheek against the icy bricks, and hugged his arms tighter around himself.

“Credence… what’s wrong?”

His voice scraped out of his throat and he couldn’t make the pain go away with a swallow or two, but then again, it has been almost ten hours since he had any water or food.

“Mister Graves… I’m sorry. I feel like I’m on fire.”

The man had reached his side, and his hand wasn’t a relief on the back of his neck, it was further heat that he couldn’t bear.

 A whimper escaped him, and the man sighed.

“Credence, you’re burning up. You’re sick. Why aren’t you at home, resting?”

Credence shook his head,

“I can’t. I have to do my duty, I have to spread the word and resting breeds laziness. Sloth. It’s a sin.”

Mister Graves clicked his tongue against his teeth, and Credence flinched. Ma did that when he came home too late, or she thought he’d done something to disobey her.

“Shh-hh, it’s okay. I’m here to help you. Always.”

The man pulled him away from the rough brick, and into his arms, and then Credence was falling, drowning from a lack of air, wondering if he’d missed the moment Mister Graves had put his hands around his throat.

Then it stopped, and he was gasping for breath, Mister Graves’ arms strong around him, leading him to walk backwards, putting him down on something soft.

“Here. Lay down, I’ll be right back.”

Credence nodded and tried to force his eyes open wider, and the second he was alone in the room, he looked around, drinking it all in.

He’d never imagined such a place, not except in his darkest dreams, where he had no control, and the evils of his mind seemed to truly take over.

Mister Graves had brought him to his _home_.

His bedroom.

He was on the man’s bed right now.

He blinked.

The heat was overwhelming him, choking him, and his hands scrabbled up to tug away his collar and his tie. Once he started to free himself he couldn’t stop.

Next thing he knew his fingers were undoing his shirt and pants, wanting the chance to let the heat go away, to be taken away by the magic he could _feel_ surrounding him in such a place.

“Credence… what are you doing?”

He jumped, and nearly fell off the bed.

Mister Graves was standing in the doorway, holding a glass full of something, a dark purple liquid, and his eyes seemed locked on Credence’s bare upper body.

“I’m sorry I just… I’m so hot.”

He looked down at himself, and tried to immediately wrap his arms over the scars he could see creeping around from his back to slash over his stomach. Further down, his pants were halfway undone and there it was, the center of the problem, where the heat always bloomed first, before spreading to his heart and his cheeks and his ears.

He squeezed his eyes shut, and tried to curl up into a ball, at the edge of the bed.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. It’s a fever. I’ve got this for you to drink. Come on now. Get back onto the bed, and open your mouth.”

*

When he’d come upon Credence in their usual meeting place, albeit one of the more disgusting alleyways of the city, he’d known something was different, wrong.

The boy was always cowering back, shivering with a fear so strong he could almost see it hovering around his body, like a dark cloud that would only retreat, never leave, while he was around, if he was able to heal or help.

It pained him to have to leave the boy to return to whatever fresh hell his ‘mother’ dreamed up for him. More painful still was admitting where he’d been wrong, to criticize Tina for what she’d done by interfering and insisting that he do the same.

But truly it was cruel to make the boy continue to stand out in the harsh winter air, while almost boiling alive from a fever that he suspected might have been from bad food or simply a bug another stray orphan had carried along with him. Credence was so underfed and weak, if only in outward appearance that his body was probably not up to fight off even a simple cold.

Luckily, no-maj illnesses had nothing on magical ones, so the remedy was simple. Rest for at least three hours, and a full glass of Pepperup potion.

Graves didn’t always keep those around, unless it was wintertime, and then he kept at least a weeks’ worth, as he hated having to go to see a healer or take even a half day from work for something so trivial.

He’d come back to his room to find the boy struggling with his clothing, more than delirious with fever, mumbling about how he needed someone to touch him and stop the burn. He’d almost dropped the glass when he saw the bulge in the boy’s pants.

He averted his eyes as quickly as possible but then snagged on the marks on the boy’s bare chest.

Red angry twisted ropes that stretched around the sides from his back, he guessed, and the glass was no longer in danger of being dropped, but crushed instead.

How dare she?

How dare the woman harm someone in her care?

No wonder Tina had been so willing to risk her career over that. Never had Graves been so angry at things he couldn’t change. The laws would take years to repeal, to edit, and reconciliation could probably keep him up at night for the rest of his life.

He walked closer, quiet, and careful, trying to sooth the boy with comforting words, but desperate to get him well, to let him sleep without pain or distress.

He held up the glass and tried to smile, prepared to explain what it would do, how long it would take to begin working, but instead froze as Credence blinked up at him, and parted his lips, doing as he’d been told, but in a completely different manner.

Graves found a hand gravitating towards the flushed face, and his eyes were stuck on those pink lips,

“I need you to…”

Credence nodded, and somewhat nuzzled against Graves’ palm, mouth still open, his hot breath hitting his skin.

“Um...”

He tried to shift the glass closer, trying to think of just how he was going to tip it in properly and not make a mess, when Credence turned his face, forcing Graves’ thumb to his lips, and his eyes fluttered shut.

Graves couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe himself, all focus zeroing in on that one point of contact, as Credence kissed the pad of his thumb and with wetted it with a flick of his tongue.

He put his other hand to the boy’s forehead, with the intent to nudge him back, to turn the moment back to what it was supposed to be, but instead Credence let out a moan, as Graves’ much cooler skin met the burning flesh there.

“Mister Graves, please, make the pain go away. Touch me.”

Credence was talking nonsense; he didn’t know what he was saying.

Graves cleared his throat and tried again.

“I need you to drink this. It will help the pain. I promise.”

Credence nodded, and finally let Graves’ thumb slip out from his mouth, but he didn’t move away from the palm on his cheek.

He managed a few slow sips of the potion, and Graves let out a sigh of relief. It would be a bit unpleasant, spicy almost, but that merely meant it was working.

Credence coughed suddenly, and smoke drifted out of his ears, and Graves bit back a smile.

“Feel better?”

The boy nodded again, and he brought the glass back to his lips,

“One more swallow?”

Credence looked up at him again with tears in his eyes,

“Okay.”

But instead he actually took several more, and the glass was nearly empty by the time Graves took it away and set it down, as Credence started withdrawing, trying to shrink as small as he could be, pressed back against the pillows and atop the covers.

“Here, now, that position is not going to help you sleep.”

Graves waved his fingers over the bed, and the sheets and comforter un-tucked themselves and fluttered atop the boy’s body. He saw Credence’s eyes widen and then he was lifting his hands and looking at them.

“Could you…?”

It was like he was afraid to ask, afraid Graves would say _no_ , after what he’d just done for him.

“Of course, let me see what she’s done to you my boy.”

He took a seat, gingerly, beside the boy on the bed, trying to keep a respectable distance, and Credence shuffled closer still, with the sheets tucked around himself, as if he wanted to hide, despite Graves having accidentally seen him shirtless already.

“It’s not as bad as last time…”

The boy was saying, and Graves sighed again.

“I never like having to do this. I shouldn’t have to. You…”

He trailed off, unsure exactly what he was trying to say, but he could feel the boy shivering. Had his fever broken that quickly?

Graves pressed his index and middle fingers over the cuts on Credence’s palm, and the boy gasped as he watched the skin healing.

“Always surprised it works?”

Graves couldn’t help teasing him, and Credence shook his head.

“No I just, I just wondered, if there’s spells to heal, are their ones to cause these?”

To harm? To injure?

Oh yes.

Plenty.

Graves doesn’t want to frighten the boy though, so he just answers as diplomatically as possible.

“Magic can do anything you can imagine. Good things and bad. It’s why I have a job in the first place.”

Credence was staring at him as he took the other hand to do the same. But a few moments later, he faltered and when Graves glanced up, he could see the symptoms of fatigue finally hitting him.

He’d been cured of the fever and chills, but now his body needed to start repairing him. For no-majs, rest was the best thing.

“Sleep now my boy. It’ll be okay.”

He got up to his feet, and moved to manually switch off the closest lamp, and he dimly heard the boy whisper something.

“What’s that?”

“Thank you Mister Graves.”

He smiled to himself as he left the room.

*

Credence opened his eyes, pulled from sleep and panting for breath as heat pooled low in his abdomen. He sat up and shoved away the suddenly stifling covers, finding the same problem had returned. His hands shook as he clamped them down over his shameful hardness, but doing so only made the fire grow, licking against his skin, threatening to drive him mad.

He couldn’t want, he couldn’t continue, it was wickedness.

Mister Graves had brought him something to drink that had tasted horrible, but had instantly wiped away the dizzying feeling of a fever, he’d said. But it _hadn’t_ worked. It hadn’t cured him completely.

He found tears stinging the corners of his eyes, and his chest wracked with a sob, hands flying up to his face, to hide his shame from his sight and stop the noise.

“Credence. Are you all right? Did you sleep…?”

Why was Mister Graves so wonderful?

Couldn’t he just heal Credence and throw him back away into the alley, and let him take his penance in peace?

He wondered how ma would make him pay for it that time, for running away from his work to seek after something other than her truth.

“No Mister Graves, something is terribly wrong with me. This always happens when you heal me, when you’re too near. It won’t go away.”

“Oh Credence, dear boy. It can’t just be willed away. It’s a perfectly natural thing. Don’t you know?”

The bed dipped as he felt the man sit down beside him, and still Credence kept his face covered by his hands, shaking his head.

“I can’t… I don’t know what to do.”

He gasped between his hands, and he could feel his own tears on his newly healed palms. Jesus wept once, and he’d also had his feet washed with tears.

Credence only felt unclean for being as he was. An abomination.

“Let me help you.”

Mister Graves was saying, putting a strong hand to Credence’s wrists, dragging his hands from his face, forcing him to look at the man, and he saw nothing like he expected.

No pity, no anger, only fondness.

Could it be possible?

Did the man _not_ find him repulsive?

“Please.”

Magic could surely purge the evil from him, could take away the pain of the unknown sin that always curled around the base of his spine, and settled in his groin.

“Do you mind if I take this away?”

Mister Graves was nodding towards his throbbing hardness, hardly concealed by his threadbare trousers and Credence nodded so hard he thought he felt his head ache.

“Yes, please… I need…”

He blinked, as the man waved a hand and vanished his last scrap of clothing.

“Oh.”

That wasn’t what he’d meant.

Now he was completely naked in the man’s bed, confirmation of the wrongness of it all right before him, almost red, slick at the tip, and standing up to brush against his stomach.

“I…”

“You have to touch it, with a gentle hand at first, I’d recommend. Can I show you?”

Credence just nodded, heartbeat thundering in his ears, vision growing blurry, and he knew it had to be from tears again.

He was just a hideous thing, crying and shivering, oozing sin from every pore.

Mister Graves reached over, and set his hand over it, barely grasping it with his fingers wrapped loosely, and Credence cried out, head falling back against the pillows, a blissful agony screaming through his nerves.

“M-mister Graves that’s not good, that’s not making it stop.”

“You can’t stop it. It’s got to be taken care of. Have you never touched yourself?”

Credence shook his head, and shoved his hands against the sheets, scrabbling for something to anchor him, to hold onto to prevent flying into a million shards of… something, as Mister Graves slowly started to move his hand, little stroking motions up and down over him, somewhat aided by the tear like fluid that just _wouldn’t_ stop coming out of him.

The man sighed.

“Well, like this, you move as fast or slow as you want, make sure to focus on the head, here, you see? It must feel good, you’re practically dripping.”

Credence yanked his gaze from where it had been locked on the ceiling, determined not to look at himself or Mister Graves, lest he say or do something awful, like beg as his mind was telling him to, or try to put his own hands on the man, and drag him closer.

“I…”

The words he’d been trying to form died on his tongue as he looked down at himself, at the way Mister Graves’ hand moved over him, the pinkness of the tip breaching his grasp and glistening obscenely with every stroke.

“Tell me how it feels Credence.”

A direct command.

He couldn’t ignore that.

Credence took a shaky breath, and turned to find the man watching him with something new in his eyes, brown orbs swallowed by blackness.

“Its… like flying.”

Constantly rising, ever aware of the eventual fall, Credence wondered if that was why angels did so. The pleasure of sinning was so tempting, ever present and stalking like a roaring lion, wasn’t that what the book said?

“Do you want to soar? Or glide?”

Mister Graves’ mouth quirked into a smile at that question, and Credence got lost staring. The man had nice lips, and he wanted to ask for them.

He had been touched by magic, and sin, and so now, what would one more transgression be?

“Yes.”

That was not quite the answer Mister Graves was probably looking for, but he then started to move his hand faster, and Credence lost the ability to think, to speak, to do anything but feel.

He was being burned alive by a different sort of fever, and it was addictive.

The moment when it all crested and crashed around him, he barely noticed, but for the way Mister Graves groaned aloud.

“God, you’re beautiful like this, you know that Credence? So good and so pure.”

There was warm wetness on his thighs and the man’s hand hadn’t stopped stroking him, making his hips buck involuntarily as something like pain bit at him.

It still felt good, but there was a hint of excess to it now.

“Mister Graves, please, stop.”

*

Graves halted his hand at once, almost yanked it back like he’d been burned. He _never_ wanted to hurt the boy, unless he asked for it, so he was ashamed at himself, horrified at how fast he got lost in the act. What was originally supposed to be educational had rapidly becoming self serving.

He could not stop being selfish long enough to keep from licking at his fingers, hoping Credence would open his eyes and catch him and ask _‘why, what are you doing that for?’_

“I’m sorry.”

Credence’s eyes were closed tight, and his hands were clenched, white knuckled, wrinkling the sheets and almost tearing them from their tucked edges under the mattress, as he shivered, his cock softening and falling down between his thighs, sated for the moment.

But the boy didn’t even know what had happened; he had probably only ever found relief in night dreams he couldn’t remember experiencing.

“Mister Graves, am I cured now?”

_‘He’s innocent. He’s too good, too young and you need to send him home.’_

That was what the rational side of him whispered, the inner voice of Auror who worked for MACUSA who should have known better.

Graves ignored it, not wanting to listen to it.

“No dear boy. You can’t be cured because there’s nothing wrong with you. You’ve just had your first orgasm.”

“What?”

Graves couldn’t stop himself; he was touching the boy again. Not dangerously so. Just a pat on the knee.

“How much do you know about, uh, intimate things? Like between two people.”

Credence’s eyes opened, blessedly, and they were liquid, twin black holes Graves wanted to dive into. His lashes clung to each other from his tears,

“It’s a sin, if they’re not married. Or if it’s something unnatural like, like two of…”

He broke off, and his cheeks were turning pink.

Graves nodded,

“Like this. Like us.”

Credence moved his head just a fraction.

“Well she’s called witches and wizards unnatural too. So what is the truth? Are all things but her, but her world of beating innocent children beyond reason true? Or is it possible she’s wrong?”

Credence couldn’t or wouldn’t meet his gaze now, he was back to hugging his arms over his bare chest, curiously not bothering to try and hide his lower body.

“I don’t know.”

“Credence. I think you do. Even if you can’t put words to it. You know I only want good things for you. I want to protect you. To not have to keep healing you, to let you be free.”

The boy was shaking again and somewhere in the midst of the movement Graves swore he could see the hint of a nod.

“Do you want to stay here?”

Dark eyes snapped back up to his,

“What?”

“You only have to go back if you want to. If you don’t, I have a guest room. I never need it, so it’s an office right now, but it’s just a charm.”

“What do I have to do?”

Graves cocked a brow at him,

“About what?”

“For you. To stay here.”

Several different ideas about what _they_ could do started to flash through his mind, most of which ended up with him naked along with Credence, and maybe a few scenarios involved more of those delicious sounds the boy had made when he came.

But that wasn’t what Graves wanted.

Not at first.

“Nothing. Just keep out of trouble, don’t burn the house down if you decide to cook…”

Credence’s jaw dropped, and that brought forth another well of thoughts that Graves clamped down, drawing on his endless well of self control, usually he never needed it. The boy before him could be the most difficult test he’d ever faced.

“You don’t want anything? But I could…”

The boy stopped speaking and his eyes darted to Graves’ waist.

He swallowed, and tried to remain calm, but like he’d told the boy, it couldn’t be stopped; only taken care of.

“No. You need more rest. You’re not lucid yet. Just tell me when you’re ready, okay?”

Credence blinked,

“But where will you sleep? I’m in your bed.”

His voice was a hushed whisper, and Graves could feel goose bumps starting to stand up on the back of his neck. Of course he knew that.

He wasn’t about to just… make the boy move.

“I’ll be in the living room on the couch.”

“Please, don’t leave me.”

Graves had already gotten to his feet and was a good step or two from the door, but the words made him stop.

_‘If it’s what he wants?’_

“You’re sure?”

A nod.

It might as well be a death sentence.

Graves couldn’t let himself be within arm’s reach of the boy, the fragile and ethereal creature that he could be called without wanting to corrupt every inch of him.

What made it worse? Knowing that deep down, the boy probably wouldn’t have minded that.

*

Credence stirred, and the first thing he noticed was that he wasn’t cold, or too hot, and the bed beneath him wasn’t lumpy or spotty with springs.

He shifted again, and felt a heavy weight over his back.

Looking down, he found what appeared to be an arm, corded with muscle and covered with a scattering of dark hair. A shiver shot down his spine, and as he followed the limb back to a shoulder, he remembered. He had asked the man to stay, in a fit of selfish madness.

Suddenly it became harder to breathe.

He could feel that he was still naked, and judging by the exposed arm and upper body of Mister Graves, there was a _small_ chance he might be as well.

He tried to move again, without jostling the man too much, and turned until he could face him, as he still slept, and Credence gulped.

In sleep, Mister Graves looked younger, and Credence decided he could be called the most handsome man he’d ever seen. He had always thought that, every single time he would see the man approach his alleyway, or stare at him across the street.

Before he could stop himself, he had stretched out a hand, and put his fingers to the man’s heavy brow, wanting desperately to touch the dark and silver hair as it swooped over the man’s forehead.

It was soft, more so than it looked before, as just another edge to the man’s perfect look, along with the crisp lines of his suit and coat and… self.

Credence couldn’t help feeling like he _had_ flown, and he had accidentally knocked an angel out of heaven to the ground with him.

“Hmm?”

He froze, his hand still halfway through stroking the man’s hair.

Mister Graves began to wake up, and Credence wasn’t sure what to do, should he shrink away, and pretend he just woke too?

“Credence… what are you looking at? Is there something on my face?”

Mister Graves put a hand to his cheek, rubbed over the day’s growth, and Credence couldn’t think.

“What did you decide?”

His voice was a rough rasp, and Credence felt the sound seeping into his very bones, as close as they were, it would have been impossible not to notice, how alluring the man sounded after having just returned to consciousness.

There was a hand on him, startling him slightly.

It was an innocent enough touch, just resting on the curve of his stomach, but the warmth from before still flared to life, and his cheeks began to grow hot.

“I want to stay.”

He hadn’t even thought of it, but that moment was all he needed.

“I’m glad to hear that.”

The man’s thumb rubbed over the dip of skin right beside his navel, and he felt himself grow harder.

“Mister Graves…?”

The man hadn’t gotten any closer, but he still intimidated in his own way, dominating the space between them.

“Yes my boy?”

“Will you…?”

What he’s asking for couldn’t be put to words, but he saw how the man’s eyes dropped to his mouth, and he wondered if mind reading could be possible.

“Tell me.”

“A kiss.”

The hand tightened on him, and Credence barely had a second to process it before Mister Graves dragged him in, and bracketed his body over top of him, his lips hot and wet on his own.

Sparks flashed behind his eyelids as they slammed closed, and he let out a whine, as the man’s thigh slid between his own, brushing against his renewed shame.

He was right. Mister Graves wasn’t wearing anything either.

It was almost as if he wanted to be a temptation, and he was challenging Credence.

Well.

It had worked.

*

So soft, so pliant, the boy melted into the mattress as Graves kissed him and the boy rutted up against his thigh.

Credence might not have known what he was doing, but unconsciously he was chasing after his pleasure, and he would be very happy when he got it, and figures out how much fun it could be just, taking the journey.

“Credence, do you want to touch me?”

Graves got a feverish nod in reply, and the hand that he had felt on his face earlier now fumbled around his stomach, as he smiled against the boy’s jaw line, kissing down to his neck, to suck on a spot and rip a gasp from him.

“Close, you’re almost there.”

The hesitant brush of fingers on his cock couldn’t be more welcome even if it was less than skilled. It was probably the most arousing thing of it all.

“Like that?”

Credence whispered, and Graves answered him with a nip of teeth and laving of tongue, causing the boy’s hips to stutter.

“Mister Graves… ahhh.”

Wetness slicked against his thigh, and Credence’s eyes closed as his hand went slack over Graves’ own cock.

“Yes my boy?”

It was a facetious question. There was no question.

He didn’t actually want to come like that, from not quite focused stroking. Plus, he knew the boy probably felt filthy from coming over himself twice now.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll get you cleaned up.”

He could use magic, he knows. But where was the fun in that?

He scooped the boy into his arms, carried him to the bathroom, and sort of propped him against the wall, before waving a hand to start up the water.

“Mister Graves…”

Credence reached out for him, blindly, and Graves smiled just a bit, before tugging him close, and stepping into the water, so that it was aimed at the boy’s back, just wetting his hair slightly.

“Is it too cold?”

Credence shook his head, and Graves carefully moved him so the water could rinse down his front and wash away the sticky feeling of half dried come.

“What about you?”

Graves had almost been ignoring his own somewhat distracting arousal. Mornings usually began with such a time in the shower, pointedly _not_ thinking about the boy, so to have him there, although at a different time, it was like he’d been plucked from a stray fantasy and conjured up.

“Hmm?”

Playing dumb seemed to be the best way to go about it, but Credence wasn’t deterred, his hands were touching him off and on, as he mouthed at Graves’ neck.

“Can I help?”

“I’d love that.”

Graves almost sighed against the boy’s shoulder, and a more firm hand grasped him, not quite tight enough yet.

“But, maybe you could try something else?”

Graves felt a little bad suggesting it, but there was little else that would get him off without fail, while being definitely educational.

He’d already murmured a charm to prevent any slipping on the tiles, and Credence lifted his head to stare, awaiting his request.

At his full height as he was, no longer trying to hunch and hide, the boy was a bit taller than him. Instead of being a disappointment, the thought thrilled him.

“What should I do?”

“Get on your knees.”

“Like for prayer?”

Graves nodded, not quite trusting himself not to say something too blunt.

The boy moved quickly enough, perhaps still loose limbed from his own orgasm, and was sitting back on his heels, looking up at him.

“Open your mouth.”

Goddamn, he was obedient to a fault, if anything. Credence blinked a bit from the ricochet spray as the water hit Graves’ chest, like a summer rain shower.

“Okay.”

He palmed his own cock, gave it a few strokes, before stepping forward to let Credence feel it over his lips, gentle, slow, but the boy just dropped his jaw further, and it slipped inside halfway before Graves realized what happened.

“Close your mouth a bit, and try to suck, like, uh, a candy.”

Far too late he knew Credence probably had never even had such a thing, so the furrow of his brow told him he didn’t quite know what he meant.

“Just, pretend it’s my fingers. You did pretty well with that before.”

Not that he was doing badly, not at all. It was just unlike any other encounter Graves had experienced. Credence never looked away from his face, not until Graves put a hand to his face, thumb rubbing over his cheek, and his eyes closed halfway as he moaned, the vibration of his voice evident against his cock.

“God… that’s good. Do that again.”

The little licks the boy was giving the head and the fair amount of movement from the wetness of his mouth and the water were doing surprisingly excellent things for Graves’ arousal.

Not to mention the fact that Credence looked stunning completely soaked and on his knees, his own cock already returning to full hardness between his legs, arching up towards his stomach.

“You can use your hands too; touch me here, and here.”

It got much more instructional and probably confusing than he meant it to, as Credence applied one hand, moving his fingers and palm to his balls and grazed over the sensitive skin between.

After a few more moments of that, Graves couldn’t keep talking, couldn’t keep up a steady amount of commentary beyond moaning and trying to warn the boy off, that he couldn’t let him keep going.

He didn’t want to frighten Credence, even if he also wanted to eventual claim him, and that included seeing him covered in his come.

“Stop.”

It sounded more like a plea than he liked, and Credence did so at once, pulling back to blink up at him,

“Is everything okay? Did I do something wrong?”

“Of course not. You were perfect. But as you know, what happens next isn’t always, uh, palatable.”

“I don’t mind. I mean, it can’t be as bad as that purple drink…”

Graves bit back a laugh.

“Well, that’s true.”

“Can I try?”

Instead of answering, Graves nodded and pressed forward, watching wide eyed as Credence’s mouth just opened again and took him down.

It didn’t take long after that.

The boy’s dark eyes finally closed all the way, long wet lashes brushing over his cheeks, and when he swallowed several times, Graves could _feel_ his throat contracting around his cock, and it was incredible.

“How… how was it?”

His voice was a croak, and as Graves helped the boy back up to his feet, he couldn’t resist squeezing a hand over his hip.

Grounding himself, as if Credence was a lightning strike prepared to touch down.

“I’ve had worse things.”

Oh.

“But you’ve never done that before, right?”

A shake of the head was his answer.

Graves let out a sigh.

Worse or not, he really hated the idea of being the boy’s first anything, but at least he had given him a proper threshold. Now in the future, when he was out on his own, he could understand how lovers _should_ treat him.

Lovers?

Oh god.

He was completely fucked.

*

He kept swallowing, over his no longer sore throat, and even after Mister Graves made them both some tea and cooked grilled cheese with some soup, which he says could come close to the best meal on the planet, Credence could still taste _him_.

He found that he didn’t mind.

Mister Graves used magic to change his clothing, to make it more substantial, and it felt like brand new, so when he got dressed and eventually followed the man out to the kitchen, he didn’t even look the same.

His hair wasn’t combed but it was drying in waves, and even the horrible cut wasn’t so bad when it was messed up and not flat.

It was as if doing everything wrong had finally given him everything right, had turned his life into something he’d always dreamt of. Mister Graves had told him nothing that he had done was wrong, and he heard and believed that. It was still very hard to stop thinking of it like that.

He would never again have to see his mother.

He would never see his sisters either, but there wasn’t exactly a love there. He’d cared for them because he’d been charged with it, and eventually, Chastity had more than outgrown his care, and Modesty was, well, a bit scary, the way she took after their mother.

He was not sure if he could do it, but he decided to try.

“Mister Graves?”

The man looked over at him from the edge of his teacup, on the verge of taking a sip,

“Yes Credence?”

“Would you… heal my back?”

He knew the man had to have seen everything at some point; he’d been bare before him far too much for him to have ignored all the angry lines and red welts.

“Credence, of course.”

Mister Graves finished his tea and then led Credence into the living room, perching on the couch facing the fireplace.

“Take off your shirt.”

It was just a nice starched white collared shirt now, he hadn’t put the jacket on over because it wasn’t cold inside, so his fingers only had to fumble over one set of buttons. He shifted it off his shoulders and Mister Graves reached out, a broad palm over his shoulder, heavy and hot on his skin.

He shivered from the contact, but it wasn’t because he was cold.

“Let me know if anything hurts you, okay?”

Credence nodded, but he knew he wouldn’t have to.

Mister Graves wasn’t speaking aloud words, not really, but Credence could feel his magic working on his back, it was hot and sharp, a firm insistent pressure, nothing like being hit.

Before he could ask if it was over, there were lips on his shoulder, and both of Mister Graves’ hands framed on his waist, dragging him back against the man.

“All right there?”

Credence nodded, and he could feel the man’s hands shifting over him, even as the hypersensitive and healed skin of his back tingled where Mister Graves’ own shirt rubbed on his body.

There was something hard and insistent pressing into his behind, as the man’s mouth was trailing over to his neck, and he murmured,

“What do you want me to do next?”

Credence shifted around in the man’s arms, and he let him, so that he could put his mouth on Mister Graves, and let his eyes fall closed.

The man kissed him and his hands didn’t remain still, one splayed over Credence’s bare back as the other remained at his hip, the sensations so overpowering he could feel the heat blooming in his stomach again, spreading down to his groin again.

“Teach me.”

Mister Graves pulled him flush to his body, and kissed him again, before whispering,

“To do what my boy?”

“To please you.”

He felt the man shuddering, and Credence wondered if he’d said the wrong thing.

“You don’t have to be taught that. Everything you do, every little thing, is perfect.”

Credence felt his cheeks flush,

“I want to be useful.”

Mister Graves sighed,

“You don’t have to be anything but what you are.”

“Please…”

Before he knew what happened, the man had picked him up and was taking him back to the bedroom, only to stop to set him down, and start undoing his own shirt.

“I’m going to put my mouth on your cock. It’s time for you to know how good it can feel.”

Credence’s eyes widened, and he could only nod, stunned.

“But you don’t have to…”

Mister Graves put a finger to his lips, and shushed him in a swift movement, before his hands started undoing his pants, and carefully tugged them off and tossed them aside.

Credence couldn’t keep his eyes open, and he pushed his head back against the pillow as the man first touched him, and a warm wetness of Mister Graves’ mouth met the sensitive skin of his… cock.

He’d never known what to call it beyond the cold and clinical terms his mother had used, and the way she always seemed to look down her nose at him if he’d dared ask about it.

He’d learned his lesson after that.

That was the day he had gotten his first scar on his back from the belt.

When Mister Graves took him all the way into his mouth, his hips moved, and he felt a hand push them back down,

“Steady.”

The man was stroking over his cock, aided by slickness leaking from the tip, and Credence forced himself to look, watching as Mister Graves leaned back down again.

“God, it’s incredible.”

He didn’t know how he’d gotten so close, but when the man dipped a hand down to touch him below, and pressed a finger against the rim of his most forbidden place, where he knew he could be tempted to commit a worse sin. He thought he would like to, if it was with Mister Graves.

He couldn’t find the words to warn to ask him to slow down or stop, and he gasped as the hand at his hip tightened, and the man swallowed around him, and stayed until his legs stopped shaking, and only pulled back to lick his lips, obscenely, and Credence thought his vision might have gone white.

“Mister Graves… I’m sorry. I couldn’t…”

“Don’t apologize my boy. I don’t mind it at all.”

“Why did you touch me there?”

Credence couldn’t form the words; he didn’t even know what to say about _it_.

Mister Graves was smiling slightly,

“If you ever want more, that’s a good place to start. Did it bother you? I didn’t hurt you did I?”

Credence shook his head at once, and the man had finished crawling up his body to pull him close, for a hug, but without clothing it felt far better than any other time the man had embraced him.

“No. I uh, liked it.”

“Good. I’d love to show you someday.”

Credence nodded and pressed his cheek into the man’s shoulder, feeling exhaustion start to wash over him.

“Sleep now my boy. Tomorrow will be a great day. A new beginning.”

*

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
